


A Soccer Game

by writingandchocolatemilk



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Anko Family - Freeform, Football | Soccer, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 02:39:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4083535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingandchocolatemilk/pseuds/writingandchocolatemilk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The insurance-wrecking car pulled up to the curb, Emil sinking down into his seat when he caught sight of the field. Practices were okay, but games… </p><p>The car shut off, and Emil nearly closed his eyes in annoyance when Lukas and Abel turned around. Their faces were serious, Abel’s unusually still, like he was about to tell Emil which senator to assassinate. </p><p>“We’ve heard The Eagles are rough,” Abel began. </p><p>Emil looked at his cleats. His jersey was freshly washed, grass stains finally dissolved after hours of experimentation with bleach. </p><p>“We want you to know we’re proud of you, no matter what,” Abel continued, nodding. “As long as you try your hardest, we’ll always be proud of you.”</p><p>Lukas nodded, once.</p><p>Abel held up his fist. “The Vikings can kick <i>Linfield’s</i> team’s asses no problem. Emil, you got this. Make the team—“ He broke off, emotions overcoming him.</p><p>Emil was in the third grade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Soccer Game

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dorkdenmark](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=dorkdenmark).
  * Inspired by [Anko Family Soccer Headcanons](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/119965) by dorkdenmark. 



> *Updates from the grave*
> 
> Abel is Denmark.

It was a crisp spring day. The air was clear and cold in the early morning, the grass dewy. It was the kind of day that promised to be glorious, sun shining, birds singing. Emil wanted to go home. He wanted to go home desperately. 

The insurance-wrecking car pulled up to the curb, Emil sinking down into his seat when he caught sight of the field. Practices were okay, but games… 

The car shut off, and Emil nearly closed his eyes in annoyance when Lukas and Abel turned around. Their faces were serious, Abel’s unusually still, like he was about to tell Emil which senator to assassinate. 

“We’ve heard The Eagles are rough,” Abel began. 

Emil looked at his cleats. Abel had insisted on Nike, though Lukas continued to push an even more expensive brand that made custom shoes with logos. His jersey was freshly washed, grass stains finally dissolved after hours of experimentation with bleach. 

“We want you to know we’re proud of you, no matter what,” Abel continued, nodding. “As long as you try your hardest, we’ll always be proud of you.”

Lukas nodded, once.

Abel held up his fist. “The Vikings can kick _Linfield’s_ team’s asses no problem. Emil, you got this. Make the team—“ He broke off, emotions overcoming him.

Emil was in the third grade. 

“Proud,” Lukas finished. 

Emil opened the car door and stepped into the sun. He waved half-heartedly at Leon, whose foster-father was slathering sunscreen on him. Leon’s shoulders slumped in greeting before his foster-father turned him around to get Leon’s face.

Emil turned back to his brother and Abel. They opened the trunk, the lawn chairs and coolers landing heavily on the curb. Abel was still unpacking the car.

“Please.”

Abel looked up, grin on his face. “What was that?”

“Please don’t bring the posters.”

Abel looked down at the sheet of paper, then back up at Emil. “Nonsense! You need encouragement! What better way than posters?” 

Lukas loomed. “How else would everyone know the best player belonged to us? This way, everyone knows that number eight is ours.” He pulled out his poster, which had been drawn with a deformed penguin kicking a smudge; Emil realized it was supposed to be him. 

Emil walked quickly away, towards his coach. Ms. Hedervary smiled at him. Then, she caught sight of Abel and Lukas, dragging the chairs, umbrella, and coolers toward the stands. Her smile fell.

“Your uncles couldn’t bring you this time, huh, Emil?” 

Emil shrugged. “They were really upset they missed the last game.”

The other players and their parents straggled onto the field. Emil watched nervously as Abel and Lukas sized up the competition, talking lowly to one another and pointing at the opposing team’s players. 

Emil was in the third grade. He was nine. 

The whistle blew, and the ball was kicked off. Emil watched as the other team fumbled the ball for a moment, then ran over, getting the ball when it was unclaimed. He ran toward the opposing team’s goal.

Abel and Lukas _cheered_.

“Woo!” Abel whooped, standing, sign waved around in the air. 

Lukas was right next to him, clapping loudly, occasionally joining in with Abel’s cheers. 

Emil rolled his eyes. Suddenly, a huge blond kid was in front of him. Emil tried to dodge away, but the kid’s foot was right there, and the grass was still wet, and Emil fell awkwardly. 

Emil hopped up.

“ _What was that_?!” Abel nearly threw the sign down. 

Ms. Hedervary smiled as Lukas stormed up to her, demanding she intervene. 

The game proceeded thusly. Sometimes, Emil would even touch the ball with his foot before one of his teammates took over. More times, that blond kid would snatch the ball away from him, the other team’s coach cheering encouragements. 

A timeout was called. Emil almost didn’t want to go over for a drink, but he did anyways. It was almost too warm for it to be comfortable, and Emil opened the cooler and avoided looking at the scene that was happening a few feet away.

“Your number ten is _cheating_.” Lukas had his arms crossed, but his whole body was radiating hostility. Abel hovered nearby, ready to swoop in.

The other team’s coach raised an eyebrow, his bleached, white hair glowing in the sun. “Maybe eight isn’t aggressive enough. Ten,” the coach reached around to place a fond hand on ten’s back, “is a fantastic—“

“Gilbert, please,” the blond boy said, blushing, meeting Emil’s eyes before looking away.

“Did you just say,” Lukas asked, very slowly, “that eight isn’t aggressive enough?” 

At least the cops weren’t called this time, Emil thought as they drove away an hour later, Lukas holding a cold water bottle to his black eye.


End file.
